


The First Day of the Rest of Your Life

by notoverjoyed



Series: Not Yet a Hero [1]
Category: Marvel 616, Young Avengers
Genre: Gen, Mutant Powers, Not Beta Read, Origin Story, dramatic power emergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:56:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3400880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoverjoyed/pseuds/notoverjoyed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Besides those few about how he was put in superhero Juvie, Tommy Shepherd never got an origin story in the comics. So, I was compelled to make one, and this is the result. </p><p>Tommy never expected his life be so dramatic. High school is bearable, and his parent's impending divorce hasn't phased him, but mutant powers? One detention ends in a way that changes his his life forever, and not in a good way.</p><p>*edited version of previous work*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If this story looks really familiar, its because its a dramatic edit of a previous story, Day One. I was going to write the sequel, when I looked this thing and was totally unsatisfied. So, you get a new version with way more words to replace it. Same story, just better. Read on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this story looks really familiar, its because its a dramatic edit of a previous story, Day One. I was going to write the sequel, when I looked this thing and was totally unsatisfied. So, you get a new version with way more words to replace it. Same story, just better. Read on.

On a Monday morning early in March, the quiet is broken in one untidy apartment. One of the occupants is standing in the cluttered entrance hall, staring intently at the mess. The tiny space is littered with boxes and bags, as if no one had bothered to take them all the way inside.

“I just know that both earrings were in my jewelry box, and that was unpacked days ago,” she mutters to herself in exasperation. She’d just moved in a few weeks ago with her teenage son, but few of the boxes had been fully unpacked. The clutter has made it much more difficult to get ready for work in the mornings. Today she’s running more behind than usual. Of course she could just call and say she’s going to be late. But she’s already behind on her workload since filing for divorce  and finding a new place to live and….

“Aha!” she says with a smirk as she spots the wayward stud. It’s mixed in with the spare house key and some loose change in a dish on the tiny corner table. “Found you.” She moves toward the table to get grab the earring, but staggers because she’s only wearing one of her heels. Stumbling as she takes off the lone half of the pair, she starts a new search for the mislaid shoe. Just as she finds it by the couch in the living room, she hears the rumble of the school bus. It won’t be more than a few minutes until the bus reaches the stop closest to their door. She doesn't even notice the sound until she realizes its significance.

“Tommy, you better leave soon or you’ll be late for school”, Mary Shepherd shouts as she hurries to put in her other earring. With all the upheaval in the past year, her son has developed the habit of sleeping in so late that he misses the bus. She, of course, has to be late to work to drive him. It’s more than a little irritating, and she decides right then that she would no longer take the time to drive him. He’ll just have to be responsible for getting himself up. He used to be decent at at getting himself up and out of the house before. Just as well, because she and Frank never did have time to play alarm clock

Unfortunately, her voice doesn't travel far enough. She doesn’t realize that her words can’t be heard in the back bedroom, and she doesn’t have the energy to care. After putting on her other shoe and her coat, she scrounges around in her purse for her car keys and leaves without another word. Her son, in the absence of her voice nagging him to get up, doesn’t. Even with the alarm going off right next to his head.

…

BzzzzzzZZZZZZ…..

The droning of the alarm drags him into consciousness, along with the glare of light from the window. Tommy groans and squints as he opens his eyes, and for a moment he forgets why he’s awake. Then his eyes focus on the wavering numbers of the digital clock on his bedside table. He startles at the time, sitting up groggily in a momentary panic

“Damn, 8 o’clock already?” he lets out a sigh and groans.  “Overslept. Again. Why do I have even try?” Of course, even as sleepy as he is, it’s not like he would able to go back to sleep now that he was conscious. For half a second he considers lying back down and trying anyway, but knows he can’t afford to be late again.

_One more tardy, Mr. Shepherd, and I will be forced to give you another detention._

Mrs. Dubard’s words ring through his head as he remembers. It’s just one more detention, and for being late a just a few times. But with his disciplinary record he’ll never catch a break with the administration.

“Just as well that I have to get up anyway” he grumbles as he rolls to the floor. He stretches for the t-shirt tossed over the foot of his bed. Sleeping at all is a luxury, because he’s been plagued by restlessness in the past few weeks. At the moment, he wishes he was fast enough to keep up with his own impatience, as he has next to no time to get ready. He sticks a hand under the bed to scrounge for his deodorant. It’s not in the narrow space, so then where…? There! In the seat of the chair by the door. As he begins a mad dash for his jacket and his bag and oh yeah, his pants, he worries over the thought of detention.

‘I’m pretty sure that I won’t be able to stand detention this week. It’s with Mr. Carson, and doesn’t even let you take bathroom breaks in history class. He’ll probably give me another detention just for twitching.’

A month ago, he could have matched Mr. Carson glare for glare. But in the past few weeks just sitting still has been hard enough.  Tommy rushes from his bedroom to the bathroom, wondering if he’ll even be able to sit through another detention. He pauses for a moment in front of the bathroom mirror, to make sure he still looks like a human being. His hair is sticking up in a pale cloud, and he sighs a bit as he hurries to pat it down. Other kids have always antagonized him because of it, and even adults get onto him. Everyone thinks he dyes it, and there isn’t any medical reason for the color. Tommy’s pretty sure it’s one of the reasons Mr. Carson doesn’t seem to like him that much. Of course that might be due more to the couple of fights comments about his hair have instigated.

He doesn’t take too long preening and decides he doesn’t have the time to even brush his teeth. in the hallway and past the kitchen without even a thought of breakfast. This frantic pace doesn’t help him go that much faster. He has to go back into his room to grab his shoes and a jacket, banging his shoulder on the door in his hurry. Finally, he runs through the living room and out the front door. He pauses for a moment to grab his book bag and tie his shoes before hurriedly locking the door. He speeds off toward his bus stop, his bright green sneakers slapping the sidewalk.

He can see the bus stopped at the corner just ahead, its bright yellow paint job glowing in the morning light. For a fleeting moment he thinks he might make it. But just as that thought occurs, the door closes and the vehicle begins to inch forward. Tommy picks up his pace to a near sprint, hoping to convince the driver to stop, but it’s no use. The bus lumbers on and goes around the corner just as Tommy reaches the stop. Not quite fast enough

  Panting, he scowls and considers his options. The bus has already left, and his Mom is usually gone by now anyway. There’s his old bike that he’s outgrown, but it’s unridable due to a flat tire. It was supposed to have been fixed by now, but he didn’t know how. If his Dad had been around, Tommy might have been able to convince him to fix it, but that’s not an option now. He’s only seen his Dad once or twice since the his parents officially separated. Of course, it's not as if they saw much of each other before that. With no other alternative, Tommy resigns himself to walking, or running to school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Way more words means multiple chapters, so I'm going to post them one at a time. It's all finished, but I'll post one shortish chapter a week to allow for editing on my busy school schedule. You'll want the editing, and I promise It'll be worth the wait. Comments are welcome and I'll answer every one, so feel free to express your (civil) opinions.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said Friday for the new chapter, but I'll be busy tomorrow, so you get the chapter a day early. I'm nice like that, I could have put it off until Saturday.

Tommy sighs as a cold breeze picks up, reminding him that it’s still winter, though spring isn’t far off. It’s a little chilly for an unanticipated walk to school, but he’ll warm up soon. If he walks fast there’s still a sliver of hope that he’ll make it to homeroom before the late bell rings. His bus stop is one of the last on the route, so he doesn’t have much time to spare. He zips up his jacket as he starts on a quick walk in the right direction. As he navigates unfamiliar side roads, Tommy wonders why he’s even bothering to rush.

“Why not just skip the whole day and save yourself the trouble?” he mumbles. Still, he keeps going, moving from a walk to an easy jog as he hits a smooth patch of sidewalk. If it was for another reason, the running might not be so bad, even though he was never that fond of it before. Sometimes in gym class they run laps around the soccer field in the freezing cold. Luckily for Tommy though, he's gotten faster, and it means less time spent in the frigid outdoors.

But being faster in class doesn’t mean he’s fast enough to avoid being late this morning. Even though he rushed through getting ready, he might still get another tardy. He's just entering the neighborhood where he had lived until just a month ago when he passes by a bank. The bank's sign flashes the temperature, 38°, and then the time, 8:15am. Tommy groans, knowing he has only a few minutes more to get to class.

“Why 8:20? Why not 8:45, or 8:30 even?” he grumbles, but runs on. He's now closer to the school, in more familiar territory, so he decides to use a shortcut. He takes a sharp left into a small side street.

Unfortunately, there are sounds of construction equipment as as he turns the corner. He slows down, and stops at the road he had hoped to cross. The cracked concrete is getting a long overdue facelift. Fresh pavement stretches on for almost a mile in one direction. The other side is full of workers and equipment preparing the ground. There’s no hope of cutting across the area without being turned back.

“When the hell did they start this?!” he shouts, not even hearing himself over the nearest machine. He would have known about the construction if he had still been living in the neighborhood. There had been some loud complaints about the cracked roadway while he was living there. The repairs must have started soon after he’d moved away with his mom. This new obstacle meant he now had no chance of getting to class on time. Now he gets to backtrack and take the long way around after all. His back slumps a bit as he turns it on the fresh asphalt and retraces his original path, this time at a restless walk.

Its 8:30 by the time he reaches school. He approaches the entrance right as the bell rings to signal the end of homeroom.

“Missed all of homeroom,” he mutters grumpily.  He pulls open the heavy metal door and waved a hand at the teacher monitoring the door. The man gestures at the clock mounted on the wall and casts a stern look at Tommy. Tommy sighs, and trudges toward the attendance office instead of his first period class. Students begin to filter noisily out of the classrooms at the far end of the hall.

“You know the drill,” the teacher says as Tommy passes him. Tommy nods and rolls his eyes. Unphased, the teacher turns back to the door to catch any more late arrivals. Tommy opens the door to the attendance office. Behind the desk, Mrs. Dubard looks up and sees him. It seems to Tommy that she looks a little too happy to see him come into her office again. She’s definitely going to make a nasty note in his permanent record.

“Late again I see, Mr. Shepherd,” she says after a moment, steepling her fingers on her desk. Tommy imagines that he sees a malicious gleam in her eye with that phrase. She looks down for a moment and scribbles something on small notepad.

“Traffic,” he offers with a shrug and a hand rubbing the back of his neck. He receives a raised eyebrow from Mrs. Dubard as she looks up. The bell rings again shrilly, and the distant clamor of the other students fades.

She seems unimpressed with his excuse. “Well, traffic or no, you have no excuse for being late. You’ve earned yourself another detention, so you’ll be expected in room 106 after the final bell tomorrow.” She rips a yellow slip of paper off the pad she’s been writing on and hands it to him. It has the details of his punishment written on it, and as expected, it’s Mr. Carson who’s supervising.

Tommy turns to go, saying, “I guess if that’s it-“.

“Your parents will be notified of this, and they may be called in for a conference if this pattern continues,” Mrs.  Dubard added.

“Sure, Okay, It’s a date” Tommy responds with a touch of sarcasm. His parents haven't had a real conversation since the split, much less one about him. It might even be the first real conversation about him since he was in elementary school. It’s been a while since they’ve talked about anything but what he’s done wrong.

“I hope that this detention convinces you of the drawbacks of your recent negative behavior,” Mrs. Dubard says as he edges toward the exit. Her duty done, she looks back down at her desk. Tommy sullenly reaches for the door-handle at her implied dismissal. He closes the door behind him with a bit more force then necessary and passes the teacher again. The man ignores him in favor of the front doors.

“Negative behavior,” he humphs , a tight-lipped smile flashing across his face. His record is full of examples of ‘negative behavior’, though that’s not what Tommy would call it. He’s far from the only kid to mouth off in class, and there’s only that one fight on his record. Well, they only had proof of the one. You could perhaps say that that he’s been a little more… on edge recently, but he’s been trying to rein it in. Though it’s hard to stay calm and collected while feeling increasing hyperactive and jittery. Tommy stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, his fingers once again clenched into fists. When she’s feeling benevolent, his mother says that he’s just under a lot of stress from the divorce. When she’s feeling less generous, his behavior is a 'cry for attention' and punished. Who even knows what his father’s opinion is. His dad has never been vocal about his son’s misbehavior, though he pays if Tommy breaks anything.

Not even thinking about where he’s going, Tommy ends up outside his first period class. The door is still cracked open a bit, so he pushes it open with his shoulder just enough to enter the room. His entrance interrupts his chemistry teacher just as she’s about to begin the lecture.

“Nice of you to join us” she jokes, but he just shrugs a greeting and moves to the nearest empty seat. He receives a few sympathetic looks as he sits down, but not from anyone he knows well. All the students know about Union Central’s rather stringent attendance policy.

He’s still pretty new here, having just started at the start of the school year in September. In some attempt at a fresh start, his family had moved into spacious apartment close to his new school. ‘Running away from their marriage problems’ as Tommy often thought. Obviously that didn't work, as they separated just a few months after the move.  A month after he and his mom left, he's still known only as the latest kid whose parents just split up. It might have gotten him some sympathy if he wasn't the kid with the bad attitude and the weird hair.

Of course it doesn’t matter much now, as he’s not in any mood to even acknowledge his few acquaintances. He tugs a notebook and pencil out of his bag as he sits. Slumping in his seat, he begins to tap the pencil on the desktop at an agitated tempo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed chapter 2. Comment if you like, and I will be ever so appreciative. To those few of you who are watching, keep an eye out for chapter 3 in roughly a week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I totally forgot to post the new chapter yesterday. I blame school and my orthodontist. Between impending due dates and mouth pain the memory was shoved out of my mind like that one kid in preschool who's too nice to defend his place in the sandbox. I swear (I'll try) to post on FRIDAY like I planned.

Tommy spends the rest of the day in an irritable haze. He attempts to pay attention to his teachers’ lectures, but keeps losing focus as they drone on and on. He settles for answering teachers’ questions with monosyllables and shifting in his seat. Lunch he spends with a group he’s sort of friendly with and listens in on their conversation.  He's not interested enough in the banter to join in, and soon loses track of what they're laughing about.  Growing bored, he leaves early from lunch, and would do the same for his classes too if he was allowed. Instead, he watches the clock tick away the minutes and then the hours. It’s a long wait until the final bell rings at 3:30pm.

The clocks in each class crawl forward in time. Eventually the bell lets out a long screeching ring, finally dismissing the students. Tommy is the out of his seat in an instant. He reaches the door before most of the other students have even packed away their things. With the knowledge of tomorrow's detention, he's eager to leave on time today. Under the watchful glares of teachers assigned to make sure no one runs, he speeds toward the door as fast has he can. He's thankful that detentions are only on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

But once outside, Tommy realizes that he’s in no hurry to go home. Thanks to Mrs. Dubard's warning, he knows he can look forward to a lecture when he gets back to the apartment. If he’s lucky his mom will be working late tonight. Then all he’ll get is a disapproving message on the answering machine. But he doesn’t feel so lucky. With that thought, he decides to walk back, saving himself the indignity of riding on the bus at all today. If he takes long enough, he can avoid running into his mother on a late lunch break.

…

He circles around his neighborhood yet another time, not ready to go into the apartment just yet. It’s still light outside, but it’s gotten a bit chillier as the warmth of the day has passed. Still, he’s in no mood to sit at home right now, so he stalks the perimeter of the neighborhood. He thinks someone might call the cops on him, if this was the kind of neighborhood where people did that. It's not the first time he's been called a juvenile delinquent. Soon though, the chill becomes just a bit too much to handle, and he wanders toward the apartment. His stomach is even more insistent, as he never finished his lunch.

He finally arrives at the two-story apartment building he lives in now. Luckily his mom’s car isn’t in the small parking lot to one side. That gets a sigh of relief out of Tommy, and his pace quickens. The entrance to each apartment is open to the outside,  and their apartment is on the first floor. He covers what’s left of the sidewalk in a few strides to gets to their front door. He turns the key and darts into the warm entryway.

Tommy keeps an eye out for his mother as he enters the living room, but the whole place seems dark and silent. Satisfied that she’s still at work, he starts to cross the living room and go to the kitchen for a snack. In his haste, he doesn't even turn on the light. Then he sees a blinking red light in the darkness next to the couch. Groaning, he makes his way in the dim light to the white splotch of the answering machine. Its squatting next to the house phone on a small side table. He's still not used to the layout of the new apartment, and bangs his knee against the corner of the table.

He curses, then stares at the blinking light. “Might as well get this over with,” he mutters. It could only be a message from his message from his mom. No one else would bother calling the apartment; the number is so new even Tommy can’t remember it. He perches on the arm of the couch and pushes the button to listen.

BEEEEEEEP

“Tommy, you are not to leave the house tonight or any other night this week, as punishment for yet another detention. As there is no late bus for detention, I’ll get off early from work to take you home. Your father is too busy. You will have to tell the school that no meeting can be arranged until your father can get time off work. I’ll have you know that this is highly inconvenient for both of us, so I will tolerate no complaints. Neither of our schedules revolves around your… behavior. I come home late tonight, so I suggest you decide whether you want to straighten up your act before we talk about this tomorrow.”

BEEEEEEEP

As the message finishes, Tommy makes a face into the dark. “Like it’s that much of a trial for you Mom,” he sneers in response to her self-sacrificing tone. He starts toward the kitchen, simmering with irritation at the warning to ‘straighten up his act’. He’s not as bad a kid as she implies when she says stuff like that. His grades have actually gotten better since he and mom moved out. It just that recently he just hasn’t been able to stay still or keep his mouth shut. Because of this he keeps getting into more trouble than he can conceal. And this punishment, all for a stupid detention, it wouldn’t even be enforced. She never enforces anything.

“Screw it,” he says with sudden agitation, and stalks past the kitchen and into his bedroom. There’s a heavier jacket draped over the seat of his desk chair and he snatches it up. Impatiently, he scrabbles around in the drawer of the bedside table for the bit of cash he had squirreled away.

"Why even involve Dad anyway," he mutters. Shrugging into his jacket, he stalks back into the living room. "Probably doesn’t even remember the other times I’ve gotten into trouble this year." To be fair, this is largely Tommy’s fault. They’ve maintained a sort of mutual avoidance for years now. He’s a little too good at getting his father riled up, and doesn't enjoy the yelling that follows. The less his father knows about his misdeeds the better. Tommy’s shoulders clench up in his jacket at the thought. He grabs his key and leaves the apartment, slamming the door on the way out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week is a new chapter, and the start of a new day. Six chapters to cover two days of plot, ridiculous, but you enjoy it, don't you? (I am staring hopefully at my computer screen as you read this.)


	4. Chapter 4

Despite a late night, Tommy wakes up just fine on Tuesday morning. He’s actually up well before his alarm goes off. Looking at the clock, he decides to sleep another hour or so, no use getting up before the sun. However, he has more energy than normal for this time of the morning, too much to go back to sleep. So he dozes, and gazes absently out the sliver of window he can see from his bed as he drifts in and out of sleep. The sky is still the dusky dark blue it is right before the sun rises, so he knows it not yet too late to get up and get ready. Still, a second glance at the clock surprises him. The red glowing numbers read 6:07 am, just a few minutes past when he had first woken up.

‘That can’t be right’, he thinks. He’s still groggy though, despite feeling more awake than is normal this time of day, so he dismisses it. Stepping out of bed, he stretches leisurely in from of the window. He looks out the window, and for a moment is transfixed by what he sees. In the tree across the parking lot, there are few birds doing what birds do on a late winter morning. Except, they seem to be hopping from branch to branch in slow motion. They're so slow that Tommy thinks he may be able to catch one if he was in the tree with them. Confused, he closes the curtain and thinks for a moment. He comes to the conclusion that he just a bit too short on sleep, but resists the urge to open the curtain and look again.

Leaving his room, he wanders in a slow circuit of the apartment, but nothing else is weird. Everything is as still and quiet as would be expected this early in the morning. He’s walking back toward the bedrooms when his mom walks out of her room. Tommy once again stops and stares. He doesn't expect her to be at all energetic so early, but she's inching along like a burglar trying to keep quiet. It takes forever for her to notice Tommy stopped in the hallway.

“What are you doing up so early,” she said, or at least that’s what he thinks she says.

“What?” he says, because he’s uncertain that she's even asking him a question. She may have said, ‘Good morning Tommy’, or ‘Breakfast isn’t ready yet go back to bed Tommy’, or any number of other things. The sentence is so drawn out that Tommy loses track of what's being said. Patience is not a thing he has much of this early in the morning. But, he's probably right in his guess. His mother’s light was on when he got back late last night. She know what time he got home, and wouldn't expect him to wake up for at least another hour. Even he's wondering just why he's awake so early in the morning ( better than wondering about the birds). This line of thought is broken with his mother’s reply.

“Never mind,” she says wearily. This time he understands her, if only just. She inches past him toward the living room at a sluggish pace. Tommy, impatient and weirded out, squeezes past her to go to the kitchen. As he passes, he catches a glimpse of the start of one of her irritated glares (she has a large collection). He doesn’t stop to care about it, or to ask her about her sudden slow-motion. The last thing he wants this morning is a lecture, so he distracts himself by making some breakfast. For some reason, he finds himself having to take far more care to shut the cupboard doors than normal. He just can’t seem to control how hard he slams them, so he’s much more careful than usual.

“Having problems Tommy?” he mutters to himself, wondering why everything seems so off kilter this morning. He finally liberates the box of cereal from the back of the cupboard. By the time his mother enters the kitchen, he's already poured himself a bowl.

“In a hurry today?” she asks. Tommy understands her only by listening closely. She’s still moving slowly, making her way to the coffee maker at a glacial pace. Maybe her slowness is from a lack of caffeine?

“No” he says, still confused, and pulls the milk from the refrigerator. He slams it closed so hard that the cans of soda at the bottom rattle. His mother gives him a dirty look as she fills the coffee maker with water.

‘She must be slipping”, he says to himself as she shuffles across the kitchen. He hasn’t caught her looking at him like that recently. As a kid sure, she'd give him that glare whenever he embarrassed her or was otherwise irritating. But by the time he'd hit his preteen years she'd ignored him instead. He’s sure she’s going to say something about his detention, but she just lets out a long tired sigh. Then she grabs a coffee cup from the dish drainer and sinks onto a barstool at the kitchen island.

Tommy sits across from her and picks at his breakfast, eyes darting to his mother every so often. He wants to be ready to make an excuse when she decides to lecture him about his latest string of truancy. He also glances at the coffee maker more than once, wondering at how long it’s taking the water to boil. It still hasn’t by the time he finishes his bowl, so he gets up to pour another. He is more careful this time, making sure not to slam any more cabinet doors. By the time he’s got back to the kitchen table, the water has finally boiled. By the time he finishes his bowl, a small amount of coffee has brewed. All this is taking far longer to happen than Tommy remembers.

“Is the coffee maker broken?” he asks as his mother gets up from her stool, his curiosity getting the better of him. She gives him a confused look and takes a long time to answer his question. Thinking she didn’t hear him, he is about to ask again when she replies.

“No,” she says in a long drawn out syllable, raising one eyebrow as if she thinks he’s joking. Her eyebrow twitches up with exaggerated slowness. Is she making a joke? Does she think he's joking? It's been a while since Tommy’s used the machine, so maybe that's how it's supposed to work. But he doubts his mother would ever wait that long for coffee every morning. She is far less patient than he is, and he’s been like a manic squirrel recently.

He ruminates on these thoughts as his mother meanders around the bar and across the kitchen. Finally at the coffee maker, she pours the little bit of coffee brewed so far into her cup. The liquid seems viscous; it takes such a long time to flow.

She must sense Tommy’s eyes on her. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your punishment,”she says. Each word comes at a glacial pace. “We’ll discuss it after I drive you home from school.” She turns away and grimaces, muttering softly “Today you decide to wake up early”

 

Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's Chapter 4, on Friday as promised. I know my chapters are short, but the end is close. Just two more chapters left, and the last one even has a bit of action. The next one, not so much, but keep reading anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter, on Friday, as promised. I've been busy this week with no time for the upteenth edit, so do let me know of any errors. Thanks again to those who've been reading.

Tommy wanders around the apartment for a while, unused to having so much time before school. Even when he wakes up on his own, he rarely has enough time to grab breakfast and dress without rushing.

Every few steps  he has to dart around his mother as she does her morning routine. Tommy usually sleeps through it all, but it’s not hard to dodge her, she’s moving so sluggishly. Even after she appears to have woken up, her movements never speed up to match Tommy’s. 

She doesn’t say much, just goes about cooking a breakfast of eggs and toast at the same slow pace. The toaster takes so long that Tommy expects the machine to explode every moment it doesn't pop. Yet the toast comes up browned to perfection.

Impatient, Tommy even helps her out a bit. He puts dishes in the dishwasher and grabs a load laundry from her arms to stick in the washer. She looks confused when the bundle disappears from her arms. He wonders if she’s always this sleepy in the mornings, to zone out so much. Even the pained look she gives him every time he gets in her way is delayed.

After what feels like an age, but was more like an hour, his mother goes into her own room. She closes the door decisively, and Tommy searches for something else to do. He rearranges his bag for school several times over. He even considers glancing at a math assignment due tomorrow. The Algebra is put away though; he’s not that bored yet. He cleans up the mess he made of his room last night, but draws the line at the closet. Instead he just paces around the room a bit, thinking of more to do. He finally just gets himself dressed for school. Pants, jacket, sneakers, he’s got everything. On a normal day he just lounges around in his pajamas until right before he has to leave. Getting dressed is the last thing he does before he's out the door. There is nothing left to do before school but he's to wired to sit still, so he walks around the apartment.

"I gotta stop pacing like this, the crappy carpet's worn enough” he says to himself. At that, he decides to leave early for the bus stop, something that he’s never done before. No chance of missing the bus then.

He pauses in the doorway and shouts, “I’m leaving for the bus now Mom.” Not waiting for a reply, he ducks out the apartment, slamming the door behind him. His mother doesn’t catch the words, but pokes her head out of her bedroom door when she hears his rushed words. She shakes her head and sighs at the crash of the door closing, then goes back to getting ready for work.

...

Tommy doesn’t remember much of the bus ride to school that day. It seems to take far longer than normal, but normal means being half asleep, so it’s hard to tell. The wait for the bus though, that was agonizingly long, half asleep or no. The other students on his route approach the stop at a snail's pace. He stands off to one side, not in the mood for conversation. Still, he’s the first to mount the steps of the bus as it screeches to slow halt in front of him. Flopping into a seat, he  glares at anyone that looking to sit with him. The bus begins to pull forward  and he closes his eyes. He’s in no rush to get to school but still grows impatient with the long bus trip. Every now and then the rocking of the bus makes him drop into a light doze. Every time he wakes he thinks they've arrived, but they've only gone a few blocks while he slept.

When they reach the school Tommy is the first to get off the bus, even as reluctant as he is to go to class. ‘Better than being stuck behind everyone else’, he thinks. He rushes to his homeroom, dodging other students in his path. He's arrives a few minutes early, so the teacher tries to talk to him. Tommy doesn't bother to even try to register the words. It might be a gesture of concern, but from Tommy's perspective it drags on to a full blown lecture. Other students filter in and most of them are still sleepy enough to stay quiet. The conversation that exists fades into the background noise of the day's announcements. Still, he can't help but notice the strange quality of their words, the same of his mother's earlier. He grows even more impatient as the class drags on much longer than the usual ten sluggish minutes.

Like yesterday, his first class is interminable, and his attention span is even worse. Though he tries to pay attention, he quickly loses the thread of the teacher's lecture. Like everyone else's, her words stretch out into long , slow syllables until they lose all meaning. He soon gives up trying to interpret them at all. Instead, he jiggles his leg as he tries his best to not think about anything at all. Especially not his looming detention. It’s pretty stupid after all, to be that worried about a simple detention.

Lunch he skips altogether. He doesn't want to listen to these kids he barely knows exchange banter in slow motion. He spends the time instead in one of the more out-of-the-way bathrooms. It’s the best place to kill time without  _thinking_  about time and freaking out. Though the smell is a bit strong in the stall he’s using.  

 “The janitors don’t even come here,” he mutters to himself. His stomach answers with a few impressive grumbles and gurgles. On his way back to class, he scrounges for change and grabs a snack from the machine by the cafeteria. He bolts down the protein bar where it sits uneasy in his stomach. It doesn’t do much to stave off his hunger, but at this point he’s too agitated to eat much anyway.

In his afternoon classes he taps his foot incessantly, oblivious to the glares of his classmates. The bells ring and he passes from class to class, trying not to think about his detention. Its only a few extra minutes at school, but he's dreading it.

‘So stupid,’ he thinks, ‘It’s really not that big a deal, stop freaking’. This self-reproach doesn’t lessen his apprehension, made worse by the weirdness of the day. At some point he stops listening to his teachers altogether, convinced something must be wrong with his ears. ‘Patience’ he says to himself over and over again. His stomach keeps rolling, as much from tension as from hunger.

After what feels like days the end of the day is imminent, and most of the other students will be allowed to go home. For Tommy though, there’s another ninety minutes of in-school detention to go. The bell rings for his last class, seeming to go on forever.  He heaves a weary sigh as he slides from his seat in Mr. Marten’s western civ. class. He shuffles tensely down the hall to room 106 in the north wing of the building. Most of the other students go the other way towards the buses and parking lot, but a few split off from the rowdy crowd. They head the same way as Tommy, to detention.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter. I think you will enjoy it, those of you who have read this far.

As reluctant as he is to be there, Tommy is still still the first to reach  detention. He hesitates in the doorway for a moment, but he’s shoved aside by an older student, Donny. This guy is shorter than Tommy but broad in the shoulder, and easily moves him.

“Move, Shepherd, Some of us got places to be,” he says. Looking back at Tommy, he asks, “What’re you in for today?”

“Was late, again,” Tommy says, rolling his eyes dramatically. He tries to ignore the way Donny’s voice sounds distorted as he enters the room behind the older boy.

“Shit, that’s all?” the other guy exclaims, a look of amused incredulity on his face. “Were you too fuckin’ busy to go to class, bleaching your roots?”

“Volume” Mr. Carson says tersely from the doorway. He strides into the room behind the boys and demands, “Take your seats.” His voice has the same distortion as every other voice Tommy’s heard today, and he tries to ignore it the same.

“Surprised you even came to school just for this”, the boy replied as he turned to sit near the back of the room. “Heard you were out late last night,” he added in a low voice.  Tommy can barely make out the soft slurred words.

Tommy makes a face at that. “What did you-“

“Surprised you even came to school just for this”, the boy replied as he turned to sit near the back of the room. “Heard you were out late last night,” he added in a low voice, Tommy just barely able to make out the soft slurred words.

Tommy makes a face at that. “What did you-“

“Sit” Mr. Carson interrupts, and points to a seat in front of his desk. Tommy scowls at the teacher’s obvious intention to keep an eye on him. If he ignores the teacher and sits elsewhere, he’ll just get more attention. There’s no point to disobeying. Mr. Carson looks on sternly as Tommy sits in the middle seat of the front row and dumps his backpack on the floor.

“You sure look happy to see me” Tommy mutters as he slouches further into his seat. He fidgets through the litany of rules Mr. Carson reads out. It's the same list Tommy’s heard in every detention he’s suffered through. He has it pretty much memorized by now, so he ignores Mr. Carson until the final words.

“Now, get out your homework, or just sit quietly. No phones or non-school related materials are allowed; they will be confiscated. No sleeping either, you don’t get to snooze through the lesson you’re supposed to learn by being here.”

Tommy wants to laugh at the last bit, doubtful that he would be able to sleep under the teacher’s watchful eye. Maybe with a heavy dose of his mother's sleeping pills.

‘Took too many to hear me come in last night,’ he thinks grateful to have her reprimand postponed. But he still doesn’t get to nap through his detention. Instead, he sighs and digs for his algebra notes. Maybe he can actually do his math homework for once instead of begging to copy someone else's. The notebook retrieved, he shuffles through all the papers stuffed into it. He finds his assignment and flattens it on the desk, but he can't think of where to start. He just stares at it until the assigned equations swim in his head.

‘Screw it, I can’t do numbers now’ he thinks to himself. He closes the notebook and crams it back into his bag. There’s a book he’s supposed to be reading for English, so he again rummages through his bag. He finds the book and opens it roughly, making the spine crack. He spends even less time looking at the text than he did at his math homework. He speed reads, his eyes blurring over the text until he realizes he’s not absorbing anything.  

He slams the book closed, and Mr. Carson gives him a sharp warning. “What did I say about volume Mr. Shepherd?”

“Sorry” Tommy replies, “Can’t concentrate.” He gives a sheepish smile, but the teacher's having none of it.

Quiet, Tommy can do quiet. He puts his book back in his bag and tries to just sit there, but without anything to occupy his mind he has to do something. He starts tapping his foot, but winces at the noise it makes against the hard tile floor. Instead, he settles for jiggling his leg like he’s done in most his classes today. None of his teachers cared. It’s not until the desk starts to vibrate with the shaking that Mr. Carson objects

“Sit still Mr. Shepherd!” he says, looking almost offended at the intensity of the teenager's fidgeting. Tommy gets a pained look on his face at the demand, but tries to stop anyway. He settles for tapping his fingers on the desktop.

As he taps, he tried not to think about anything, to just zone out until the hour and half is up. It doesn’t work though; he can’t make his mind drift. He’s trapped in the present moment, and can’t help but feel every second as it passes. So he stares at his hands as they jerk against the desk

‘I should have eaten more lunch,’ he thinks suddenly. He's just noticed how lightheaded he is, though his mind moves no slower. And his hands, they’re twitching almost faster than he can see! He stills his hands and looks up, glancing at the clock mounted over Mr. Carson’s head. It shows 3:40 in the afternoon. Only ten minutes have passed by! He glares at the clock, willing it to move faster. The second hand makes its slow rotation around the face of the clock, and it seems to decelerate.

Except…He's not imagining that the clock is counting time more slowly as he watches. He looks around the room at the other students. Like the hands of the clock, they're turning pages and scratching pencils in slow-motion. Mr. Carson even moves his head sluggishly, as if he’s underwater. His face wrinkling in confusion, Tommy looks back at the clock. The progress of bright red second hand across its face is unhurried. The increments between its movements grow longer and longer, until-

‘It stopped!’ his mind shouts at him, and he freezes in shock. It seems like whole minutes pass before the hand moves again. Tommy breaks his stare and stands up. He slams his palms down on the desktop and blurts out a desperate question.

“CanIgotothebathroom?”

A look of confusion rises on Mr. Carson’s face. “W-h-a-t-?” he asks, the word inching out of his mouth.

Tommy says it again, more slowly this time. He stretches out the words and enunciates every syllable like he’s talking to a small child.

“Can-I-go–to-the-bath-room?”

Mr. Carson replies with a slow shake of his head, saying something.  It starts, “No, this is detention, you…”, but Tommy doesn’t hear the rest. He’s distracted by a rattling noise, and looks around to find the source. It’s not until he glances down that he notices his hands. They’re vibrating so fast that he can't even see them, and the entire desk is rocking under his palms.

Now the rest of the room seems to notice that something’s wrong, and the students closest to him lean away. Looks of alarm gradually rise on their faces.

Tommy raises his hand to his eyes as he backs away from the desk. The other students scatter around him as  he stumbles backwards, his whole body shaking. One of his legs catches  on another desk and he instinctively grabs at it as he falls.

As he grasps the top of the desk, Tommy starts to feel a weird sensation, even stranger than the vibration. The desk in his grip is not only vibrating with him, but is resonating. A low thrum fills the room as the desk, then the floors and the walls, began to move in the same way. Tommy’s surprise and dismay give way to fascination. He’s the one making this happen. He might be able to control this… power.

“Awesome,” he says softly, though with some trepidation. He can’t stop what he’s doing, or at least he doesn’t know how. So, he does what in his mind is the next best thing. He lays on more power, more vibration, and it feels like the earth is shaking underneath his feet. The others in the room make moves as if to run, but only a few dare to go for the door. After all, only a couple seconds have passed since the shaking started. The rest look around at the shaking walls and appear frozen. The entire world threatens to shake apart around them.

Tommy forms an uncertain smile at this display of his new power. Then, the noise of the building’s shaking seems to reach a higher pitch. He feels the power in his hands surge, and what happened next is too fast for even him to react.

All of a sudden, Tommy feels the power settle. The building goes from shaking but standing, to tiny bits of rubble and dust flying through the air. It happens in an instant. There’s a shockwave that knocks him off his feet, and sends the other students and Mr. Carson flying. His vision blurs. The last thing he knows before his senses go out completely are the moans and screams of everyone around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the last chapter. Thank you to those few who commented and gave kudos and bookmarked. Tell me what you think of this last chapter, or about the whole thing if you just found the story. I appreciate and will reply to all comments.
> 
> Also, I can confirm that there will be a sequel, or sequels. I've got stories piling up in my brain that won't go away until I write them, and I will go from having no time to having all the time in the world for a few weeks in May. Expect something in early June(ish) at the latest. Anyway, see ya then.


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